The corridor of power

Gordon Lister had been stood in the corner of the room sipping from a large glass of wine for over an hour before one of his mother’s friends walked slowly across the room and stopped directly in front of him. “You must be Gordon,” she said smiling, “I’m Amanda.”

He’d been trying very hard to avoid making eye contact with anyone there, especially any of the women, but after taking a deep breath replied with a nervous mumble:”Er, y,yes. P,p,pleased to meet you.”

The woman was in her mid-forties, lightly muscled with short blonde hair, wearing a red knee-length cocktail dress and carrying a wine decanter that had been in his family for many generations.  She took the stopper from the ornate crystal bottle, filled his glass without asking, and whispered: “It’s a party Gordon. Just because we’re all a little older than you doesn’t mean you can’t join in.”

He returned her smile as he shuffled backwards: “I,I only dropped in to wish mom a happy birthday but I’m not that confident around people I don’t know. I’ll be going soon.”

Amanda Evans smiled again and moved very slightly forwards so that she was stood at a slight angle between Gordon and the other revellers: close enough that he’d have had to push against her to get past.

He took a slight step back and sipped his drink, as Amanda Evans moved almost imperceptibly forward so that she was once again close enough to whisper in his ear: “Am I making you nervous Gordon?”

“N,n,no,” he stammered unconvincingly as he inched backwards along the wall while Amanda Evans mirrored his movements so that she was always less than two feet away, and leaving Gordon Lister with nowhere to move except backwards.

After about fifteen minutes of polite conversation, most of which he’d spent spluttering nervous replies, Gordon had moved to the edge of a narrow corridor and to a place where he thought he could step past Mrs Evans without causing offence, when a woman in a pair of very high-heeled stilettoes and wearing a long black dress clinging tightly to her slender frame walked across the room and stood directly in front of him.

She brushed her shoulder-length black hair away from her face with both hands and pushed it behind her ears before taking what to Gordon felt like several minutes studying him. He didn’t know why, but he suddenly began to feel like a prey animal on the Discovery channel separated from the herd by clever predators working as a team. “You must be Gordon” said the newcomer, “I’m Laura. Jeff Robson’s wife.”

“P,p,pleased to meet you,” stuttered Gordon, “M,Mr Robson’s the big fellow isn’t he? The one with all the muscles?”

“That’s right,” she replied laughing, “lots of muscles, not much of a brain, incredibly jealous and a wicked temper. We might be better off talking round the corner.”  Laura Robson gestured down the corridor behind him as Amanda Evans stepped forwards so that Gordon, almost as a reflex action to keep the distance between them constant, stepped back and out of sight of the rest of the room.

He was now stood in a narrow corridor with two women directly in front of him: one holding his mother’s antique decanter and a half-full glass of wine, and the other rubbing her hands together and grinning.

He took another pace further back as Laura Robson twisted forty five degrees so that she could see all the room and down the corrior without turning her body as Amanda Evans passed the decanter and her glass across him. “Can you hold these for me Gordon?” said Amanda Evans smiling, “there isn’t anywhere to put them down and my arm is getting tired.”

Gordon Lister took the crystal decanter from the woman handing it towards him as she added “Your mother says it’s very, very valuable. So be careful. Especially as the lid doesn’t fit very well. And be careful with my wine glass as we don’t want any spillages either.”

He glanced around for somewhere to put both objects, but there wasn’t anything nearby: as Amanda Evans had said, the corridor they were stood in had no shelves and no furniture.

Gordon was now stood with a wine pourer in one hand, and two glasses of Californian red in the other as Amanda Evans gently pushed him up against the wall and out of sight of everybody else in the room. “Don’t move Gordon. You might spill some wine on your mother’s nice white carpet,”  she said in a manner that was more of an order than a suggestion.

He was too stunned to speak as the two women stood facing each other directly in front of him, and as they occasionally glanced down, used one hand each to unfasten the top button on his trousers, slowly pull down his zipper, and with a slight tug let his brand-new chinos fall to the floor.

Gordon didn’t move. He was frozen with the fear of spilling anything on his mother’s carpet, frozen with the fear of dropping and breaking any part of the valuable family heirloom which had been passed down thru the generations, and absolutely terrified of being found with his trousers round his ankles next to two middle-aged women at his mother’s birthday party.

“Now don’t make a sound,” whispered Laura “My husband wouldn’t understand.”

“But, but, but I don’t understand either,” protested Gordon, “what are you doing?”

“Whatever we want.” replied Amanda Evans, “Now don’t move and be very, very quiet.”  He knew that to the rest of the room it must look like the two women were engaged in some intense private conversation of the sort that nobody would interrupt, and that other than his tormentors, nobody else could see him.

He looked down as a hand decorated with several rings and expensively manicured nails slid inside his boxers and released his pulsating erection, rapidly followed by another hand grabbing it by the base and tugging it rhythmically up and down.

“B,b,but why?” he asked, his breathless voice trembling with fear.

“We were getting bored making small talk over there,” grinned Amanda nodding towards the crowd as if it was some sort of explanation, “and you looked so, well, so inviting….” Her voice trailed off as Lauren added: “And so, so tempting. We looked over at you just stood here all alone….. looking all sort of innocent…”

“But I am innocent!” he protested indignantly, “I haven’t done anything!”

“Yes you have” smiled Amanda Evans tugging faster as her friend rubbed her index finger around the top of penis, “you’ve given us an opportunity to play with a younger man. A chance for us to abuse the power we women have over men like you.” Lauren Robson started laughing as Gordon tried very hard to remain silent; stifling to contain his desire to moan as Amanda Evans tugged faster and faster.

After several minutes of near-silent torture he was almost at breaking point, when Mrs Evans suddenly let go and stepped backwards down the hall. He sighed with relief and tried to concentrate on what he was holding, but the respite was only temporary.

Lauren leant closer and took over the continuous jerking as Amanda Evans lifted up her cocktail dress, put her thumbs into the waistband of her flimsy black panties, and slowly slid them down her legs and off over her feet.

Gordon hadn’t even finished processing his thoughts about how she was going to manage to have sex with him, even if it wasn’t go be for very long at all, while he held two glasses of wine and a decanter in a room full of people, when she pushed the warm, moist lingerie into his mouth. “Shh” she said holding his mouth closed while staring over her friend’s shoulder and adding: “we can’t have you making a noise.”

His eyes widened and his legs shook more than they had before as Laura Robson’s tugging increased in intensity until he was finally unable to contain himself  and exploded right across the corridor leaving a milky stain dripping down the far wall.

Lauren let go and took the decanter and wine glasses from his trembling hands as Amanda stood back before whispering in his ear, tapping lightly on his lips and gesturing over her shoulder: “I can’t put them back on now, and I’ve no bag or anything to put them in, so you might as well us them to clean that up, and then keep them as souvenir.”

She sniggered at the thought and adjusted her dress as Laura Robson looked over at the crowd gathered around Gordon’s mother, and confident that nobody had noticed what had been happening, turned and whispered: “That was fun wasn’t it. We should have found someone like him and done that ages ago.”

Gordon removed the gag from his mouth, pulled up his boxers and trousers, fastened the zipper and the top button, and started to wipe the wall while his mother’s friends walked back laughing towards the other party guests.

It hadn’t been what he’d imagined might happen when he’d overheard his mother telling her predatory friends that ‘no matter how much they’d fantasized about toying with an innocent young man they’d got to stay away from her son’, but it had undoubtedly made the three days practising a nervous stutter, and two hours concentrating on appearing shy, naïve and vulnerable worth all the effort…


2 thoughts on “The corridor of power

  1. at a party last new year my friend and me did something similar but we just held one of his hands each while we put our other hands down his pants until he stained himself. and this was in a room so full that nobody even noticed us doing it 🙂

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